Otaare Page 4

  It had always frustrated their parents, and right now, Bola knew how they felt.

  "You'd better get your ass in here right now," Bola said, trying to sound just a bit calmer.

  It didn't work. Sukanmi still didn't show up.

  He was probably somewhere in the house. Bola had every intention of finding his cousin-in-hiding and giving him a firm talking-to. Although he'd denied it when Ukeme had accused Sukanmi during the phone call, not willing to believe it.

  But he knew it was true. He knew Sukanmi, knew what the idiot was capable of. Sure, Bola might have learned to not let money be the answer—something he was sure his father had not necessarily planned when he'd threatened to cut him off—but Sukanmi had never learned that lesson. His parents had been okay with his career choice and offered him all the support he had needed. Not every parent was like Bola's father.

  At least Sukanmi's parents knew it was a bad idea to offer people money to shut them up. The thought gave him a twinge. Maybe Ukeme had been somewhat right about Adegoke Johnson as well. But what did Ukeme know about his father? The man who had been born the last of 14 children and had worked his fingers to the bone to get to where he was at now?

  Ukeme Collins knew absolutely nothing about the Johnson family.

  Or the Williams' family.

  Except for the one Williams that Bola was currently glaring at. That Williams, Ukeme might have been a little bit right about.

  "What the fuck did you do?" Bola asked.

  Sukanmi, who had been just about to sneak out of the apartment, turned around with the key to the door still in his right hand and shrugged. "What am I being accused of doing?"

  "You know what you did," Bola said. "And you knew it would piss me off. It's why you have that bloody key in your hands and that stupid-ass jacket you never wear, except when you reach for it by accident."

  Sukanmi looked at the mint-green jacket, made a face, and dropped it on the couch like it was a hot piece of coal. He looked up and licked his lips. "He must have really pissed you off. You're swearing."

  The words just reminded him of the conversation he'd had with Ukeme and pissed him off some more. "And it all started because of you," he snarled.

  "Well. I…" Sukanmi's eyes drifted to the ground and he scratched the back of his head. "I just thought…"

  "You thought it was a good idea to offer money to the man who was calling me a fraud so he can now tell the word that I offered him a bribe to shut up?" He looked at Sukanmi. "What kind of agent are you?"

  "One that made a mistake under a tense situation?"

  "One that's been talking to my father for way too long. You spoke to him about it, didn't you?"

  Sukanmi nodded.

  "Why doesn't that surprise me? The man doesn't know when to leave things alone," Bola said.

  "He's not his fault though. He just loves you is all," Sukanmi said.

  "I don't doubt that," Bola replied. "It's just…" He trailed off, his mind back to what Ukeme had said. "Did your father know, though? About Dad bribing his way to that oil rig?"

  Sukanmi shrugged. "Nobody can tell. We weren't alive then."

  But he looked so uncomfortable that it wasn't convincing. "There are rumors. And way too many villages have complained about it," Bola finished.

  Sukanmi slid him a look. "Yes. But what has that got to do with the Collins guy?"

  "He's accusing me of doing the same thing to him that my father did to his people."

  "He's a Niger-Deltan?"

  Bola nodded.

  "Shit." Sukanmi looked like he was going to be sick. "This is not going to be good. He's going to turn this into a marginalization conversation, isn't he?"

  Bola nodded again. "Dad's going to be pissed about this new development. He's been accused of treating the riverine communities badly by so many people."

  "And he's going to tear you a new one if you let this escalate."

  Bola's eyes narrowed and Sukanmi raised his hands in a peace sign. "Us. I meant he's going to tear us a new one."

  Bola nodded. "Yes, he will. To make matters worse, he already mentioned that he's thinking of involving Barrister Oni in the case."

  Sukanmi winced, just like Bola had when his father had first suggested it.

  "That's like bringing a shark into a swimming pool and letting him loose amongst the kids. There will be blood, and total annihilation of everything in his path," Sukanmi said.

  "That's what I told him," Bola agreed. In not so many words, of course.

  "Did he listen?"

  Bola raised a brow. "Are you asking because you don't know my father?"

  Sukanmi sighed. "Damn. Like things might be bad as it is, and the man might be acting a bit stubborn, but Ukeme Collins doesn't deserve to have to deal with the moving train that's Senior Advocate Oni and your father."

  "I agree."

  "And you don't deserve to spend the next two years trying to convince your dad that you did not willfully set out to tarnish the Johnson's name either," Sukanmi added.

  "I agree on that as well."

  "Which means…" Sukanmi looked off into the distance for a brief while and then gave a quick nod. "We need a plan."

  A plan. He liked the sound of that. A plan meant everything wasn't lost yet. He turned to give Sukanmi his full attention. "What's the plan?"

  "Talk to Ukeme."

  And here he'd thought Sukanmi was going to offer him a viable idea. "I already tried talking to him. It blew up in my face."

  "But you tried talking to him via phone. I'm thinking you should talk to him person-to-person. Arrange a meeting. Have both of you sit-down and air things out. Things always get complicated when you're talking over a phone. But face–to-face? It gets better. Especially with…"

  Sukanmi pointed at the space an inch over and away from his mouth. The exact spot where Bola's dimples were. A dimple that was not showing at that exact moment. "Seriously?" Bola asked with a raised eyebrow.

  "What?" Sukanmi said with an innocent-looking shrug. Not like Bola believed that for a second.

  "First you used your sweet-talking, never-stops-moving mouth to get Ukeme's number. Then you use your bribing ways to get him to back off, and now you want me to flirt my way through?"

  "Well, one of them has to work," Sukanmi said.

  "Thanks, but no thanks. I think I will handle this on my own."

  "Sure you can handle it?"

  Bola took in a deep breath to try and stay calm. Sukanmi wasn't talking from his ass, nor was it from a place of hurt. He really was concerned and it was understandable. Fighting his own battles wasn't something he did on a regular basis. Even when his father had kicked him out, he'd had the satisfaction in heading out into the unknown with a cousin who had his back and who saved his ass several times over.

  But something told him this was a thing he had to do on his own. Maybe one of his grandfather's beloved gods, Ogun, was leading him down this unknown road towards a destination he couldn't force.

  It was a journey he intended to take. Ogun keep him and help him.

  *~*~*

  Half a bottle of Jack Daniels later, Ukeme woke up to the sun on his face and ringing in his ear. He was so disoriented that it took a while for him to realize that, yes, it was the Jack Daniels that was making him feel like he should crawl right back into bed. Eze wasn't in his room, but he had left Ukeme's curtains open on purpose, probably so he would get shards of sunlight piercing his eyeballs when he woke up. The loud ringing that was accompanied with a barely audible buzzing was his cellphone.

  His cellphone. That evil piece of technology that seemed to want nothing but to make him angry. Where had he dropped it last night?

  He heard a clatter and his phone fell silent. So it had been on his bed, then.

  Good. At least he'd had it close to him last night.

  His phone started up all over again. Son of a bitch! It was probably a call from that asshole Blaze wanting to continue from where they'd left off. Unfortunately, his head
felt like it had exchanged its brains for wool and his breath was begging to stay in his mouth. He didn't even want to speak to himself, so he wouldn't catch a whiff.

  When his phone started ringing for the third time, he sighed and rolled on his bed till he was on the other side. If anything, he would pick up the phone and tell the dude to stop bugging him.

  Except when he caught sight of his phone and the number that was flashing across the screen, he propelled himself forward, hit his head against the wall with a muffled 'ouch' but picked up the phone in time to gasp, "Hello."

  "Ukeme," Elizabeth said. "Did I wake you up?"

  "Not really," Ukeme lied. His eyes went to the clock. Ten minutes to twelve and he had still been sleeping. Maybe the quarreling lovers-roommates had settled their daily beefing quota and were now living in some semblance of peace. Did it make him a bad person that he wished they could keep right on fighting and serving as his personal alarm clock?

  "Good. Good," Elizabeth said. She did that tongue-clicking thing she did whenever she was excited; a sound that followed her clapping her hands together. "I was hoping to meet with you today. What do you say to lunch?"

  "Lunch?"

  "At Rhapsody. They have this amazing Pescatora pizza. Have you ever had a Pescatora pizza?"

  "No, I haven't," Ukeme answered, shaking his head, even though Elizabeth couldn't see him.

  He had gotten so lost in his own head that he almost missed the tail end of the conversation. "Do you know Rhapsody?"

  "I do."

  "You sure? I can always send my…"

  "It's fine, Elizabeth. It's at Agoro Odiyan, isn't it? On Victoria Island?"

  "Yeah," Elizabeth said.

  "I know the place."

  "That's great. I'll be with you in about an hour. Is that enough time for you to get there?"

  Ukeme's mind raced. He hadn't showered yet, and there would probably be no morning yoga or any form of exercise if he agreed to the time. "Erm…"

  "Because I really do want us to have a long chat. Something face-to-face, so we can both understand each other. I think it would be mutually beneficial to both of us."

  Beneficial. The one word that had always had the ability to make him toss out all doubts and reach for the wind, even if it would end up with him landing face-first in an embarrassing situation. Exercise? He would get off from the bus early enough and walk the rest of the distance. That should cover his thirty minutes exercise for the day.

  "I can make it in ninety minutes. Traffic and all," he explained. He heard Elizabeth murmur her agreement and breathed a sigh of relief. Soon, she hung up her phone and he was speed-walking through his apartment, picking out his shoes and his outfit for the day—Elizabeth Igbinero was not a woman you wanted to keep waiting or have her thinking you had absolutely no style and zero naira in your account, even when you didn't have one kobo in said account. She believed in appearances and the authors she'd signed on for her publishing house always had high praises to sing for her professionalism and foresight.

  Elizabeth Igbinero could turn anyone into a star, and she wanted to meet with him.

  Ukeme was going to be there with his dressing on-point and ready to make an impression. Six months of chasing after the woman and constantly sending her work had to pay off.

  He halted in his tracks and broke out into a smile, followed by a chuckle. Maybe Elizabeth had finished reading his pre-colonialism piece on a Niger-Deltan leader who had fought and driven the white man away. Sure, it had been fictional. Ipoto Ikeme had never existed, and neither had anyone been able to drive the slavers away. But he had great pride in that work, and he thought it was one of his finer pieces of writing.

  Who said his name wouldn't be a household name? Who said his father wouldn't be able to read the book, hold the spine in his hands and look at his son with the eyes of a father whose child had risen above his station and done well?

  He heard a loud bang that startled him, and he looked at the wall. Raised voices followed and Ukeme smiled. His neighbors were back to fighting, thank heavens.

  His eyes wandered to the clock and he released a short, high sound and rushed on to take a shower. He had to be out of the house in fifteen minutes, tops.

  He did a quick rinse, making sure to scrub hard at his armpits and a bit more gently around his balls.

  He was out of there in six minutes.

  Five minutes later, and he was in dark blue jeans, a black t-shirt with ankara material laced through the sleeves and the cuff, which went well with his jeans. He did a quick hop into his black slip-ons, gave himself a quick once-over in the floor-length mirror he'd had hammered into his wall, sprayed on some cologne and was out of his house in fourteen minutes.

  Perfect timing.

  Except when he got to the bus stop and dug through his pockets, he turned up a wallet that was empty, save for two one-thousand naira notes. His bank account balance had way less than that, and the money for the freelance work he'd done for some writing blog wouldn't be coming in for another two days.

  He couldn't afford to take a cab.

  A rickety, yellow Lagos bus pulled up in front of him with the conductor yelling "CMS-Obalende," so loud that it reverberated in his eardrums. He considered waiting for another bus, one that looked more road-worthy, but Ogudu—the area where he lived—sometimes had a problem with the occasional scarcity of buses headed to Lagos Island, and today was not a good one for buses deciding not to show up.

  The bus was just about to head out when he stretched out a hand. "Wait. I'm going," Ukeme said and entered. He ignored the conductor's grumbles about passengers who liked wasting time and didn't know where they were going. The guy could talk all he wanted, but when it came to collecting Ukeme's money, he would probably stop complaining.

  He'd barely settled into his seat when the bus lurched forward and the conductor was asking for his money.

  Ukeme handed him one of the one-thousand Naira notes and although the conductor glared at him, the guy gave him his nine-hundred in change.

  Thankfully, they made it to Obalende without any incidents, and he flagged down a cab barely two minutes after he got down. They agreed on seven hundred and fifty naira and soon and they were heading down the bridge and into Victoria Island.

  He watched the high-rise buildings and posh houses—such a direct contrast to the congested streets that tried to fit into too-narrow roads that was the Mainland—flash by, and he allowed himself to zone out, letting his breath ease in and out, meditating as he prepared for his meeting.

  It will go well today. She will give you great news. She loves your story and wants to publish it. She wants you to write even more books in the series. It's going to be a…

  "We have reached the location, sir," the driver said, and Ukeme slowly opened his eyes. He blinked a couple of times as he tried to acclimatize himself to his surroundings.

  "We're at Rhapsody?" Ukeme asked.

  The driver didn't bother answering him. He just pointed straight ahead, and Ukeme poked his head out through the lowered windows.

  There was the sign. Red against white.

  He nodded and gave the cab guy the second one-thousand naira note. Better to have the cab driver break it into change for him than to be stuck on the island at night, begging a bus conductor to just give him his change so he can be on his way.

  His feet connected with the floor and he pushed himself out of the car. The driver honked and pulled out of the parking space, and Ukeme rocked on his heels. A quick glance showed that he had made it in time with five minutes to spare, but Rhapsody had two storeys and he wasn't sure which level he should wait for Elizabeth at.

  He should probably call her. Best to let her know that he was already here.

  "Can I help you, Sir?"

  Ukeme glanced around, but couldn't see anyone.

  "Over here."

  He looked straight ahead and saw a big man—well-muscled, gorgeous, but not really his type—step out of the shadows. He wore a white sh
irt and black jeans, which just further emphasized the fact that he was wide on top and narrow at the bottom, but which screamed 'bouncer'. Not the high-class bouncers that wore suits and a tie at the socialite events, or the ones in the less-expensive places who wore multicolored tops. Nope. This one fell into the middle range, and he was gesturing at Ukeme.

  Ukeme walked up to him.

  "Can I help you, Sir?" the other man asked.

  "I don't know. I'm meeting someone here," he pointed at the door on the first floor, "or up there," he said gesturing above them at the stairs.

  "It would have to be upstairs, Sir. This area's booked for a private event."

  "A party or an orgy?" Ukeme tried to joke.

  The bouncer didn't smile back. He just kept a straight face and motioned at the stairs.

  Okay, then. Ukeme nodded at the guy and walked up the stairs. Someone pulled the doors open for him just as he reached them, and he entered a space filled with the sounds of hushed conversation, muted music, and the occasional sizzle of food frying whenever a waiter pushed open the kitchen doors. The doors swung closed behind the waiter, who walked out with the food on a platter and ready to be placed on the table of whoever had ordered it.

  It was all done up in red and black. The table and chairs were a dark mahogany and the servers were dressed in white and black, waiting to attend to people with a smile.

  One of them approached him now. A young girl who looked so young that he almost asked her if she was old enough to be working there.

  "Welcome to Rhapsody, Sir," she said with a smile. "How many people will be joining you?"

  "Just one."

  "This way, please."

  She seated him at a table for two, handed him a menu, and stood right there waiting for his order. He scanned the pages, not really taking in the name of any item; his entire attention was focused on the prices listed beside each item and how they each passed the amount of money he spent on his meals per day.